“You’re drunk,” I say. We’re a block away from the apartment, and we can’t get there soon enough.
“They know you,” Karissa says. “They know you well. You said you hated all your dad’s exes. He told me that too. You’re not in touch. We’re starting fresh. I’m not like any of the rest of them. I mean, I’m not making this crap up. Those are things that came out of your mouth. And out of your dad’s mouth. Those are things that were said.”
“I’m allowed,” I say, but my voice is small and meaningless next to her.
“Do you even want me in your family?” Karissa says. It’s not safe to answer. I never said I wanted her to be my stepmom. I only ever wanted her to be my friend or my fearless leader, the girl with the cool hair and the cool clothes and the perfectly imperfect smile who I could have adventures with. “You’re so fucking greedy. Some of us would settle for one moment with their mother, one instant looking at their sister or father again. And you run around needing more, more, more, lying to me. You’re a huge LIAR!”
Her arms are making wild swinging gestures, and I dart a little to avoid them.
No one notices.
“I see her sometimes,” I say. I reach out to bring one of Karissa’s arms down to her waist, but it’s too out of control and I leap back. “And her kids and whatever, it’s nothing, it’s a thing I do when I need mom stuff. It has literally zero to do with you. Zero.”
“It has everything to do with me! Are you crazy? ARE YOU CRAZY?” The question should be asked of her, honestly, but I don’t say that. A bike delivery dude rushes by us and Karissa yells after him too, angry at the world. “You and your fucking sister! So selfish! So unfair!” The words are fast and furious and so much louder than I’ve ever heard her, and it’s disorienting to be called this many names in such a short period of time. To have a kind of consensus between her and Tess, that Arizona and I are awful.
“Arizona doesn’t know,” I mumble. “It’s my thing. It’s mine.”
Karissa softens a little at that.
“Arizona doesn’t know?” she says.
“Please don’t tell her.”
“It’s between us?” Karissa says. Her face is nearly familiar again, almost becoming a recognizable set of features in an arrangement I have seen before.
I feel used. Like one of the old cashmere coats at the thrift store I went to with Bernardo. Something to be tried on and left behind. Something that’s been worn by a million variations of the same type of person, who think it’s all sort of a joke.
My mind rushes with metaphors when I’m overwhelmed. And I am so, so overwhelmed.
“Yep,” I say.
Karissa nods and thinks. A little rain starts to fall. Summer-in-the-city rain, which is light and misty and makes my hair feel thick and frizzy on contact. It’s getting ugly out here, summer turning the way it always does away from sun and freshness into something fuzzy and uncomfortable and smelling like the big bags of garbage they haven’t picked up yet.
“Okay. Well. It’s me or her,” Karissa says. I need to know exactly how drunk she is.
“You’re leaving my dad if I don’t stop seeing Natasha? What does that even mean?” I say.
I try walking up the stoop to our apartment so that at least we can fight under the miniature awning, but Karissa stops me.
“No. We’re doing this here,” she says. She takes out a cig and tries lighting it, but either the lighter is running low on fluid or it’s too wet to get it going. The thing is probably soggy in her mouth already. “Your dad barely remembers being with her,” Karissa says. “He’s shut it all out. It was all a big mistake. You should be moving on too.” It is impossible that Karissa would know more about this than I would, but she’s certainly proclaiming to.
The first part rings true. Dad doesn’t do memories.
“Did he ever tell you about the gift certificate she gave us? They gave us?” I say. I can barely get the words gift certificate out. They catch in my throat and burn like a summer cold caught in there.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you need to be staying away from her. Do you have any idea what this would do to your father? You can’t decide to invite her back in. It’s unfair.”
There are one million things to say about my dad doing that exact thing to me, not the other way around, but I can’t put words to it all. That he’s allowed to change everything but I’m not allowed to change anything. That it’s my job to roll with whatever new family construction he comes up with, no matter how much it hurts. And that I’m expected to let it all go whenever he says it’s over.
“Look. I know things have been hard lately,” Karissa says. She takes a deep breath and her cig finally gets lit and she blows a whole bunch of smoke into the sky. It only makes the sidewalk hotter and more insufferable. “I know we don’t know how to fit together quite yet. And that I’m a little off. But you know me. Remember?”